


The whole world is covered with you

by tothemovies (jayjem_jam)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: KPop AU, M/M, akaashi does not have a Car, choreographer! bokuto, fukurodani make several cameos, meet cute, meeting on a bus cute, music producer! akaashi, plus kuroken who are just there, they meet on the bus like that pentagon MV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjem_jam/pseuds/tothemovies
Summary: “You’re going to miss your stop.” Same voice, same huskiness to the measured words, the deliberation and a hint of something teasing, close enough for Keiji to catch a hint of something floral and homey.He drags himself out of his stupor, limbs and lids heavy, to no sight of anyone.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	The whole world is covered with you

**Author's Note:**

> nobody:  
> me: bokuaka, but make it trope-y AND kpop
> 
> title taken from the lyrics of PENTAGON's 'Violet'

For someone with a lot of songs and royalty pay in his bank account, he doesn't own a car.

In his defence, the bus ride to Fukurodani takes twenty minutes in regular Tokyo, no-good traffic and ten minutes to get to the station from his home. It's a doable stretch of time, and one he will take full advantage of. He cares about reducing his carbon footprints and the less carbon emission there is, no matter how marginal, the less worse things will escalate.

He's good for the environment like that. Maybe it won't start raising sea levels and drown him by his 40s.

Having no car also means that he doesn't bear the responsibility of driving himself to work, which is his number one most frequented place outside of his home. Sakurui-san calls him a workaholic and he emphatically embraces that title. Keiji doesn't catch public transport anywhere else because then he'll walk to the desired locations, or gods forbid, let Konoha-san drive him. Thus, there is no fear of a Keiji-induced accident in Tokyo no-good traffic.

He is rightly justified to nap on the bus. Power napping is a skill those who work at weird hours like him acquire, refine and execute regularly, to ensure there aren't embarrassing moments of fainting spells where no less than three trainees rush you to the nearest clinic because you looked like you hit your head and they're good kids.

Napping on the bus diminishes that possibility. Greatly. Someone drives him while he takes a power nap and emerges less dead at the agency's door step. It's the best kind of compromise he has ever gotten himself into, and it works so far - there is no need for him to change it on dubious principles of his friends all ganging up and chorusing  _ but you're An Adult, ‘kaashi, get a car.  _

He'd like to not die in a car crash induced by his own hands falling asleep at the wheel, all ripe at the tender age of twenty one. He also cares about the environment. So Kozume and Komi can hold onto their environmentally destructive opinions and go back to further song production. Leave Keiji on his own to make life choices that are good for the world and himself. 

The time is 5.43 in the morning and he has work in half an hour.

He also just woke up from a two hour nap. Maybe it was longer, if he generously counted the lapses of microsleep he dipped under from 11 onwards to 2, when he passed out. When Konoha-san finds out, he's going to blow a couple of dynamic fuses and what's left of Keiji will never be known to anyone else. 

But the music is done and he has no regrets, even if his eyes are dead and his brain feels like it's been put through a blender and he can manage only grunts that sound vaguely similar to phone vibrations. Death be damned, he's done his job, pulled through with the production, and he's going to the agency for the recording of the song. He's  _ fine. _

He says as he passes out on the bus, head hitting the back of the window seat and he's conked out.

  
  


People who have equally exhausting hours like him get on and off the bus, chatters of students and night shift workers getting off work mingling in the background, and the seat next to him being occupied then vacated. He's dimly aware of tidbits of information here and there, but it must have been that last ten minutes or so that he's gone into REM sleep when someone taps him on the arm, whispering  _ hey, your stop is here.  _

He has no time to be wondering  _ who woke me up.  _ This is no time or place for such trivialities. He simply has the muscle memory to throw himself into an upstanding position and scramble off the bus and into the agency. He is not awake enough for any higher order brain function. Somebody - probably Kuroo who unironically took on the mantle of Coffee Boy religiously - please have some salvation caffeine.

A niggling voice in the back of his head sings  _ someone just patted your hair and called you  _ **_pretty._ **

Keiji dismisses it.

  
  


He doesn’t dwell too hard on that singular occurrence. Nice people  _ do  _ exist here and there, in the fringes of this dreaded society, even if he expresses genuine doubt in their existence, and it is perhaps the higher powers’ way of saying  _ hey, buddy, yer wrong  _ to him. 

He sort of hoped they could have done it while he’s at least 50% conscious though - that way he can thank his personal, human alarm clock with something akin to gratitude. The company building is wedged weirdly between two stops - one is a five minute winding walk and the other is a fifteen minute free ride to another ward. He’s  _ very  _ grateful, really, but he’s also  _ very  _ exhausted - Keiji has photographic evidence to prove that he’s more eyebags than human at this current moment in time - and juggling morals while wishing he can nap for approximately a whole week is a challenging task. That he is regrettably not on par to complete.

Keiji closes his eyes, drifts off - not into emergency shutdown mode, but a quiet, meditative trance-like rest. People move on and off the bus. He jostles lightly when the wheels jerk to a stop. He flops around like a ragdoll, too deep in the trance to right himself.

A loud barrage of noises dimly sparks off in one corner of the bus, then closer, closer, eventuating near him.

“Good morning, Akkun." A man bellows, boyish even though it rings like a stone dropped into the bottom of an endless well. “How are we today?”

_ “Senpai,  _ you’re too loud. There’s someone sleeping right there.”

“Ah, my bad! I’ll talk to you later, okay?!”

Silence cloaks around Keiji’s immediate vicinity. Huh. That voice - the nice, reprimanding voice - perhaps it’s from one of the trainees from the company? Maybe that’s his nice human alarm clock. Somebody that is nice. Keiji can get along with the person. A nice voice.

He is making no direct contact with the person, but he can sense there is a presence nearby - perhaps  _ next  _ to him, though there is no actual, direct, physical contact. Keiji knows his sleeping profile is not the friendliest look out there. He tries to appear less grim, to little avail. Perhaps he radiates  _ resting bitch face syndrome  _ even unconsciously, as Konoha-san is wont to inform him. Perhaps this is simply a person who understands the deeply inherent deep for personal space on public transport. Perhaps they’re very polite.

At the block before the agency building, the reprimanding voice murmurs a  _ goodbye senpai, be mindful of your volume,  _ to the person nearby, and Keiji’s muddled brain skids to a halt.

“Kay,” whispers the voice  _ definitely  _ next to him. “See ya, Akkun!”

“Too loud,  _ senpai.” _

Then -

“You’re going to miss your stop.” Same voice, same huskiness to the measured words, the deliberation and a hint of something teasing, close enough for Keiji to catch a hint of something floral and homey. 

He drags himself out of his stupor, limbs and lids heavy, to no sight of anyone. 

  
  


Keiji, like a moron, determinedly goes to bed at a passable time so he can be more awake during his routine bus rides to gather more intel on his person. 

It does not go through. He manages for five days, and then work and life and the director wanted to change something last minute - and he’s back in his usual cycle of no sleep, all work, a lot of eye bags.

What doesn’t help is that he  _ thinks  _ he knows who this person is. There is a vague recollection of them meeting outside of this unconventional, public transport, shoujo-esque setting, but for all of his brilliant, deeply moving lyrics-producing brain, he cannot scrounge up a single occasion where he knows of the Person.

It is reaching a point to which he had turned to consulting the advice of others, though there had been more  _ unsolicited  _ advice than he’d like - both to his apprehension. It is a repeated joke that Keiji is unfeeling, perhaps like a robot on most days, since he functions solely to produce brilliant songs and lives off his studio space. The discovery of him holding an ongoing interest in someone is Big News for everyone, and there is a company-wide, joint manhunt effort to narrow down this Mystery Person. 

However, it holds a vague suspicion of everyone knowing exactly who this person is and Keiji being in the dark about it. Currently, he’s frowning about it over loud company drinks, as Karasuno starts a drunken singing rally by his left ear. Everyone is growing drunker by the minute. Keiji too is feeling the sway of alcohol. 

  
  


“Someone make sure ‘kaashi doesn’t die in a ditch somewhere.”

A boom, like a crack of thunder. “It would be an honour!”

“Bo, man, not too loud, you’re making my ears ring.”

“Sorry, Konoha. I got it from here. Don’t worry.”

Keiji doesn’t remember being carried gingerly on the most expansive back the company has to offer, but he remembers sobering up near the bus stop, when he brushes his nose into gelled silver hair.

“Ah,” he catches the sneeze at the back of his nasal cavity. “Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto-san does not throw him into the air. He sets Keiji, gingerly, like he weighs like air, onto the ground. Keiji’s knees do not wobble. He thinks. Bokuto remains close by, warm, smiling mouth and teeth. He’s awfully chipper.

“Will you be alright from here?” Hearing Bokuto-san speaks at any level that isn’t deafening is an experience, but he’s not about to divulge into how the baritone of his senior and leading choreographer is churning his stomach uncomfortably. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine, Bokuto-san. Thank you for escorting me.”

The teeth gleam even wider. They outshine the streetlights. 

“It is an honour, Akaashi!”

  
  


He seeks out Bokuto the next week, pulling open a door for him.

“How did you know which bus stop to take me to?”

Bokuto-san bustles in. “Lucky guess?”

Keiji lets the door close after him. Thinks about the encounter. 

  
  
  
  


To nobody’s surprise, he writes a song on meeting with someone yet they never get to exchange greetings and they have to part soon.

“It’s good for a ballad,” the director strategically decides on, as they go over lyrics and the base melody he draws up. “It’s...different from what you normally write though?”

Keiji shrugs. “Change of concept.”

The director nods, seriously considering it. Off to the side, Kozume and Komi maintain strictly professional faces. Their shoulders shake. Keiji is looking directly at that. 

The boss pats Keiji on the shoulder, distinctly once. 

“Thank you for your hard work, A-kaashi-kun. Take a rest now.”

Keiji, remarkably, and to nobody’s surprise, does not.

  
  


The meeting room had started off neat, tidy, snack-free at roughly three hours ago. In the current time, Komi-san is on the table, shoes discarded, and Konoha-san is vainly trying to appeal to the production team for the upcoming concept change, hammering away at the keyboard. Keiji had been taking notes, then he was just scribbling down nonsensical lyrics and ideas before he gradually slumped over the back of his chair, dozing off to the dulcet tone of everyone else arguing. It’s a skill he picked up from the trainees. They’re incredibly versatile in sleeping at any given point of the day, in any position, in whatever time they can snatch. 

“How can he even sleep? We kicked up such a ruckus.” Komi-san wonders. Washio shushes him.

“Let him be. He’s exhausted. He’s done more work than rest anyways.”

  
  


He opens his eyes, feeling strangely rested after what must have been the nap to end all naps, cheek pillowed onto a neatly folded, padded jacket. It smells homey. Floral, even. A hint of grilled meat, smoke scent lingering. 

“There ‘e is,” Komi-san beams at him, emerging from somewhere. “Awake, at last!”

“We thought you died, ‘kaashi,” Konoha-san seriously informs him.

“Sleeping beauty,” whoops Sakurui-san. “Heya, ‘kaashi-kun.”

He grunts, and pushes his elbows up with difficulty, hands braced on the table surface. 

_ “Senpai.  _ How long was I out for?”

“Coupla of hours?” Komi-san glances at the clock. “It’s ten now.”

That’s five hours of uninterrupted sleep to the cacophony of Fukurodani staff having a row in his immediate vicinity. Keiji sighs, rubbing his cheeks. They feel burdened with a good rest.

“I’m heading home,” he tells them. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“Pleasure,” they chime, piling before the elevator. 

Konoha perks up, before the doors slide shut. “Tell Bo I said hi!”

Bokuto-san appeared by his side, miraculously, swooping in from thin air like a bird of prey, smiling teeth bright in Keiji’s eyes. Keiji manages a faint  _ hello.  _

“I’m walking this way,” Bokuto whispers to him, like a secret. Keiji, now painfully sober and rested, thinks that when he isn’t yelling, his voice is truly nice.

He also smells like the jacket Keiji folded up inside his backpack, but he hasn’t made the connection.

  
  


His head lolls and swings dangerously on the shaky bus ride. It tips to one side and a hand eases him to a firm shoulder, patting his cheek delicately.

The person smells like smoke and grilled meat. Also of a floral perfume. Keiji  _ definitely  _ knows this smell.

“Up you get,” the person who may or may not be Bokuto-san chuckles, deep, a secret. “Sleepyhead.”

Keiji gurgles, then opens his eyes. They’re no longer there.

He contacts the choreography team to page in Bokuto-san for a recording, the minute he gets to work.

  
  


“You called, Akaashi?” Bokuto pokes his head in. The recording is in progress.

“Bokuto-san,” he attempts a bow from his seat. “Do come in. Tell me what you think of this.”

Bokuto-san thinks the song is a deeply personal experience. Keiji gives him a sidelong, and indulgent look. Bokuto-san stares back, owlish.

“Walk with me tomorrow morning to the agency, Bokuto-san. Much faster if we go together.”

Bokuto struck silent is a magnificent sight. He hides into the impressive breadth of his shoulders when his face erupts into blotchy pink spots on golden skin. 

  
  


Everyone remarks  _ all good  _ to the same exact tune of  _ but is this allowed?  _ Yamiji doesn’t stress too much about it, and for the most part, Bokuto is more manageable with Keiji in tow to keep an eye on him.

“That’s disgusting,” Kozume huffs, as Bokuto barrels into the recording studio to mess up everyone’s hair and squeeze the breath out of Keiji. He tops it up with a nose in his hair, arms wound tight around him.

“Please excuse us, Kozume-san,” he lets out a breathless laugh. “Bokuto-san. I have to work.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Bokuto tells him. A secret between them. “Akaashi.”

“You will. We’ll see each other again, Bokuto-san.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hozukitofu) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny)! i have a writing [twitter](https://twitter.com/jayjem_jam) if anyone is interested in more bs or we can just vibe in the void together


End file.
